


Natural Science

by Fitzsimmonshield (fitzsimmonsshield)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AOS, Academy, Art AU, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Jemma Simmons - Freeform, Leo Fitz - Freeform, The FitzSimmons Network, Valentine - Freeform, academy au, koenig - Freeform, science AU, shes-an-oddbird, tfsn, thefitzsimmonsnetwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:10:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9781094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzsimmonsshield/pseuds/Fitzsimmonshield
Summary: With graduation approaching, a mandatory art class throws a dent into Jemma Simmons Valedictorian goals. In a case of 'I have what you need,' two rivals try and figure things out.





	1. In a short-lived galaxy, each microcosmic planet, a complete society

**Author's Note:**

> This is my FSV gift for shes-an-oddbird! Her prompt beckoned the examination of art as set by scientifically-minded individuals.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and Happy Valentine's Day! <3
> 
> (Fic title and chapter titles are from the Rush song 'Natural Science')

Fitz clasped the edges of the class schedule for his final semester at the Academy. After completely ignoring the introductory drivel at the top of the paper, his eyes shot to the actual line-up. It was his last semester, he already had a Ph.D. in the bag, there wasn’t much more he could accomplish, so he decided he would give himself a break. There were a couple of advanced engineering courses, they would be easier than cake for Fitz, but he also added in a few lighter courses. He considered the art course he signed up for to be one of those. Lots of his favorite engineers had artistic skills, often able to sketch complex equipment designs with clean lines. While Fitz could do all this on a CADD system, there was still something aesthetically pleasing about the hand-drawn drafts he had seen in his studies. Hence how he came to select an additional art class, despite already filing the requirement for digital drafting. While excited, he was nervous and he took a moment to stare down at his hands, wondering if he would do well with them.

His spirit was lifted seeing that his guidance counselor accepted his request to be in the class, it just added the icing to his cake.

“And that, is how you round out your final semester at the Academy,” Fitz exclaimed, smacking the paper before placing it on the table unceremoniously.

Hunter, his well-meaning, sometimes lazy but always salty best friend, stretched out on the couch in their suite. 

“You can’t have me beat with three classes, mate,” he yawned, his hands folded behind his head.

“Unlike you, I have aspirations to be top of the class,” Fitz crooned, still excited over his light workload, to his standards.

Hunter scoffed, “That’s purely overrated. Plus, when Bobbi comes back I can use all of my free time with her.”

“If,” Fitz reminded him. Hunter echoed, _if._

 

Across town, in a well-decorated and tidy apartment, Jemma Simmons stood up from her desk with gusto, her office chair nearly tipped over. Grasping the paper on top of the desk, she clutched it tightly as she stormed out of her room. Hearing the commotion, Jemma’s roommate Daisy popped her head out of her own room.

“Simmons! Where’s the lab explosion?” Daisy endearingly mocked, a bag of chips in her hands. 

Jemma, nearly out the door, turned to Daisy. 

“I can’t believe this,” she said as she stuck her fist with the now crinkled paper out in front of her. Daisy remained silent, but her puzzled expression was telling enough.

After no response from Jemma except for her deep breaths, Daisy prodded for more information, “What?”

Jemma’s hand fell back to her side and she leaned against the doorframe, the tensed muscles of her body beginning to relax.

“There is an art class on my schedule,” the pitch in her voice faded into a dejected sigh.

“Art?” Daisy stammered, springing across the room to snatch the paper from Jemma’s hand.

Daisy uncrumpled it and scanned the schedule, making faces at her heavy workload. 

“You know you’re a senior, right? You should be taking like four classes, max,” Daisy countered, handing it back Jemma.

Jemma remained unmoved. 

“This is the most important semester. While everyone slacks off, it is those of us who continue to work hard that will get the best positions in SHIELD after graduation,” Jemma explained.

“Yeah, you and like, one other person,” Daisy said, rolling her eyes and stepping away from her friend. She returned to her own room as Jemma grabbed her bag off the table next to the door. She was going to have some harsh words for her counselor.


	2. Time after time we lose sight of the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to worse for Jemma when she receives one of the worst marks of her academic career.

Jemma stormed out of her counselor’s office visibly defeated. Her shoulders slouched forward and her trademark hurried gait was replaced with barely lifting her feet off the ground as she meandered down the hallway. She peered at her schedule, loathing the very sight of the word ‘Art.’ She was peeved by the very notion that taking a class that had no bearing on her career would sop up three class hours per week and an additional amount of time spent drawing or painting or whatever kind of studying the class required. To Jemma, it was a waste of precious time and she could do nothing to get out of it. It was a SHIELD graduate requirement. Every single academy student must take one art course. It was ludicrous and Jemma made a mental note to petition the school board about changing these bylaws of the curriculum.

Once she reached the end of the hallway, she folded the schedule and tucked it into her purse. She straightened her posture and headed in the direction of the bookstore, or rather, she hesitated thinking maybe she would need to hit an art store.

The syllabus for the art course consisted of basic art supplies, with the instructor noting that many of the other tools and materials would be provided already. Jemma picked up a top of the line sketch book. A book clerk helped her track down the sketching pencils she would need. She went off on her own to pick up several art history and technique books. Most of these weren’t on the required reading or even the suggested reading list but it took a load off her mind to have them. Once she had paid for all of the books and supplies, she brought them back to her apartment where Daisy offered up snide comments about her haul. Jemma had none of it, she simply stuck her nose in a book and tried to learn as much as she could about art.

Jemma had read all she could about art in the weekend before classes started. She arrived fifteen minutes early to the classroom to scope out which seat had the best vantage point. She chose a work station which had the windows behind her, figuring the lighting would work best here. With all of her reading, she knew that lighting was one of the most important aspects to creating art. She spread out her supplies on her desk and arranged them three times before another student entered the classroom. She offered the first year graduate student a meek smile, trying to show confidence despite her conflated frustration and nerves.

Throughout the next few minutes, more students filed in. Most of them were younger graduate students, Jemma only saw two or three from her year. Apparently, everyone else in her year knocked this class off early in their schedule. Jemma wished she had taken this nonsense course her first year. 

The class was nearly filled up before Leo Fitz ambled in. Dismayed at his sight, she cast her eyes down to fixing the heading on her notes. He was the only other person in their year that was a threat to her valedictorian spot, and she was dead set on him not having it. Their GPAs had been nearly identical through their whole educational career. They hadn’t taken too many classes together, he was an engineering major after all, but the ones she did, Jemma gathered mental notes on his weaknesses and worked to best him on them. She etched out a marginal increase in her GPA by spending all of her time on extra credit and research projects. It was exhausting but to Jemma, becoming valedictorian was something she worked for since she was a kid. She looked up again as he scanned for an available seat, noticing that he had grown up quite a bit since their last class together. He found a seat that Jemma had calculated would have terrible lighting and as he sat it in she smirked to herself. She was already ahead of him.

A minute after Fitz walked in, Professor Koenig entered. One of them. There were at least five Koenig siblings that taught at SHIELD Academy and Jemma couldn’t tell any of them apart. 

“Hello class, welcome to the new school year. My name is Professor Koenig,” he said, setting down a leather bound briefcase on his desk. There was slight chuckling among some of the students after someone said loudly “Which one?”

But Professor Koenig dismissed the statement altogether and focused on turning the projector on. 

“In a few short years, many of you will find yourself trapezing off buildings or ducking machine gun fire by rebels in countries rife with civil war, others will run logistics and devise tactics that are life and death. Others in here, slice open aliens and bottle magic to cure the world’s sicknesses and ails, while others still get the cogs churning on technology that doesn’t exist yet. All of you are so different, but in this classroom, you are all the same. You are all artists,” Koenig said to fill the time it took to set up his computer presentation. 

There were a few more giggles scattered throughout the classroom. Koenig paid no attention.

“In this classroom you will learn the history of art and how to become a better artist and interpret art. Art isn’t just paint on a paper or sound composed into a symphony, it’s in patterns, symmetrical and chaotic. In Botticelli’s Primavera, he marries the mystical with the scientific, including more than 500 species of plants and 190 species of flowers.” 

Koenig’s slideshow presentation started and whatever rumblings there were in the room ceased.

“Have you ever considered why the Nazis were obsessed with art? During the war they stripped communities, especially Jewish, of not only their lives but of their culture. Art throughout the ages has akin to power, and whoever had the most was equivalent to the most powerful. The Nazis were also said to be searching for the Ark of the Covenant and the Holy Grail, depicted in multiple paintings and stories throughout the centuries. What secrets did these paintings hold? The Nazis conceived these pieces to be weapons.”

Koenig’s slideshow stopped on a picture of the Ghent Altarpiece. He would say no more on the matter.

“Classes will bounce between the history and applicable theory, as well as creating your own art with the principles you will be learning. There is a place in the back of the classroom for you to store your materials. You are also expected to clock in your lab hours each week. And I’ll know if you fabricate that.” Koenig paused for the collective groan that emanated from his students. Jemma didn’t vocally protest, but she did impatiently tap her pen on her open notebook where a half page of notes had already been taken.

 

The first few weeks of classes were focused on the beginnings and types of art. Koenig blasted through some of the earliest forms of art, which doubled as communication, such as cave drawings. He had the class come up with their own cave drawing project in the lab class that followed using basic drawing techniques. They practiced sketching and including themes into their projects. All of it felt arbitrary to Jemma. To Fitz, he enjoyed it well enough but found himself spending more time outside of the class hours to work on his projects. Halfway through this class, Koenig turned it in a lesson about messages with codes. It started to dawn on Jemma that Koenig’s art class was more than about art, but she couldn't place it's relevancy in her own pedagogy. She thought she had a handle on the drawings, she could draw a circle with some flourishes well enough.

On the fourth week of classes, Koenig presented the students with their first exam, an exam that tested their knowledge on the beginnings of art as well as testing their grasp of techniques. It included questions where the response require drawings. Jemma, feeling unsure of how to actually answer this, likened it to scientific models, labelling everything. When Koenig handed back her test without a grade the next week, instead a grade, a _‘See me,’_ was scrawled on top of it. 

Jemma looked at the paper mortified.


	3. A quantum leap forward in time and space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koenig may have the answers, but he knows he's not the one to teach them.

Fitz took his time leaving Koenig’s class that afternoon to finish up the sketch he had previously started. This art class wasn’t what he expected but he was still generally enjoying it and he did well on the first test albeit a little difficulty with the drawings. Koenig’s main concern over Fitz’s artistic abilities was that he tended to use a straight line for everything. On his graded assignment, Koenig scrawled, ‘good drawing, but why is this so straight-lined?’

Fitz was hesitant to bring his response to the professor, at this point he thought everyone in the school would have known about his accident during his freshman year. He had tripped while rushing to his next class and bumped his head pretty seriously on a rock. While it took months to regain most of his motor functions, his hand coordination had always been just a bit off. Drawing freehand was not something Fitz could do unless the desired results were lines drawn by a pencil attached to a vibrating toothbrush. He should have thought about this art class more thoroughly. To compensate, he used a ruler or compass to draw the lines, giving his artwork and anatomical renderings of animals, landscapes and people a unique and puzzling boxy look.

As Fitz closed his books, he could hear an exasperated female voice out in the hallway exclaim _Professor!_. Naturally curious to the commotion, Fitz took up a space next to the door frame to eavesdrop.

“Ms. Simmons, you are one of the brightest students to ever attend the Academy, so it is a little surprising that you are having difficulty understanding some of these basic principles,” Koenig said. Fitz could almost feel the cutting of the words.

“But, professor, I-” Fitz could hear the rustling of paper as Jemma spoke.

“Yes, you’re a model student, you take excellent notes, you listen and ask questions in class and come in for plenty of extra time and should you pass this class, graduate with two PhDs, but, that’s not all what art is about,” Koenig interrupted.

“What can I do?” Jemma’s voice had dropped, it was no longer filled with desperation but of humiliation. Fitz could barely hear her. He pressed his body closer to the wall just on the other side of them. Upon doing so, he knocked over a painting.

“Oh, Mr. Fitz, didn’t know you were still in the classroom!” Koenig said, with only his head and shoulders popped in the classroom.

“Uh, yeah, Professor, just, was... just,” Fitz paused as he struggled to set the painting back, “just practicing those lines you asked me to.”

“Well, that’s good. Hey, say come out here for a sec, have you met Ms. Simmons?” Koenig asked, a smile ripping across the duplicitous mans face.

Fitz had set the painting back on the wall crooked, but left it as is. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and stood in the doorway, on either side of him in the hallway was Koenig and Jemma Simmons. Jemma looked none too pleased, and given the conversation she was just having, Fitz could understand. 

“Well, Ms. Simmons, I may just have your answer on how you can grasp art better,” Koenig mused, beaming at Fitz.

Jemma looked from Fitz to Koenig and back. Fitz had pulled up his shoulders and offered up what was thought to be a smile but really just pursed lips. He looked uncomfortable.

"Him?" Jemma asked. But Koenig did not respond to her query. Fitz could feel his cheeks steep with red. 

“Well, I’m off to meet Professor Koenig for some lunch, I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Koenig said, referencing one of his several siblings. He gave them each a nod, hitched his briefcase under his arm, and proceeded triumphantly down the hallway.

“Ehrm, so,” Fitz started, casting his eyes at his feet. He instinctively brought a hand to scratch the base of his neck. 

Jemma stood quietly and watched him nervously fidget. Compared to his slumped over frame, Jemma was rigidly upright. Her fingers curled around the edge of her planner, the pressure she applied whitened her knuckles. Throughout her entire academic career, she never would have thought she needed her practical arch nemesis to do well in a class. And, if she didn’t do better than him, she ran the risk of losing her valedictorian spot. She had crunched the numbers all class long. The conflict burned inside her and she met Fitz' face with a scowl.

“You understand art, but can’t draw. I don’t understand art but, can kind of draw. Would you be able to meet up during the week or weekend?” Jemma cut to the chase. Her fingertips nestled in between the pages of her planner, ready to spring into action and pen in study times with Fitz.

Fitz straightened up a bit, her boldness challenging him to take this a bit more seriously. From previous classes he knew she was a cutthroat and here he was now at the receiving end.

“If you’re available now we could go over some stuff we did in class, yeah?” Fitz strung these words together a little better than before.

Jemma paused with her planner half-open. She hadn’t expected to study so spontaneously. He threw a wrench in her whole 'must plan ahead' idea. She had an hour and a half break until her next class and supposed she could swing it if she skipped lunch.

“Yes, I can spare some time.”


	4. Science, like nature, must also be tamed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma has to rely on her academic rival Fitz to pass the only class that stand between her, two PhDs and the coveted Valedictorian spot.

“Honestly, Hunter, she was a bit terrifying at first,” Fitz followed up Hunter’s inquiry after telling him what it was like to study with Jemma Simmons. He tossed his book bag to the floor and grabbed the Xbox controller extended from Hunter’s hand.

“And then? She can’t all be rough interior, something has to match that pretty face of hers,” Hunter was glued to the TV screen again, adding Fitz to the game.

“No, it turned out just fine. We really just did work. You know how I told you making a line without shaking the whole thing up has been killing me in the class? She said she wasn’t sure yet how to get me to stop doing that so instead she just did the lines herself. My part of the bargain is to teach her art, as in the emotional intelligence of it,” Fitz responded, ignoring the part about her being pretty. His mind shifted to thinking about the sliver of a smile she provided when he tried to crack a joke about her labeled drawings. It didn't go over so well but at least it wasn't met with an icy reception.

Fitz’ face contorted and he shifted on the sofa as if it would help his video game character survive a bit longer. Hunter and Fitz were teammates in this scrimmage.

“This Mack dude is lethal,” Hunter whined, respawning.

“Yeah, I think he’s actually a mechanics major here,” Fitz twisted his arms in a jumble to try and avoid a sniper shot. He didn’t get out of the way in time and his character was knocked off a ledge. Hunter made a side comment about Fitz needing to get his head in the game instead of the clouds.

“That giant bloke with the motorcycles?” Hunter asked, resuming to the conversation.

Fitz grunted a confirmation.

“So, we had been working for nearly an hour and then her stomach grumbled really loudly. I realized she had probably given up her lunch time to put in the extra work. She was a bit embarrassed I think, so I told her I needed to get going,” Fitz brought the conversation back to his study session with Jemma.

“You should have invited her for a bite to eat, mate,” Hunter chided. He quickly followed his statement up with an expletive from being blasted again.

Fitz was done with the conversation and left it at that, falling deep into playing the game for the rest of the afternoon.

On the other side of town, Jemma had just unloaded her book bag's contents on her desk. She got to work in sorting them with her organizational system. Assignments due on the furthest date were placed on the bottom with upcoming deadlines on top. There was also a way she organized assignments that were due on the same date, but those were closely guarded secrets she didn’t share with anyone. Daisy called her neurotic on more than one occasion and Jemma didn’t disagree.

After a few minutes, her pile of books was almost organized, there was one assignment out of order that was placed on top, for Koenig’s art class. It troubled her that she was missing something, and it apparently had very little to do with intellect. Grabbing the assignment just after a few moments of placing it there, she picked up her bag, some additional files and headed back to campus, to a building she didn’t frequent often, with a new idea in her head.

The mechanical and engineering building was adjacent to the biomedical building, and often biomedical and engineering students mingled in the shared courtyard. It was a design that propagated new ideas between the students. Jemma had met her own fair share of mechanical and engineering students, and now needed one to help her with this next project. Jemma figured if she could solve Fitz’ unsteady hand problem, he may give up the secrets he had about art.

She headed to the garage where she luckily found who she was looking for, Alphonso Mackenzie. His friends called him Mack, but Jemma didn’t know him well enough to feel comfortable calling him that. He usually worked on his motorcycle at night, and from the lack of grease on his hands, Jemma figured he just started.

“Hey Jemma,” he said, looking up from the machine.

“I’m so glad I found you here,” she said, pulling over a chair to sit. Mack looked at her with intrigue. 

“Well, I couldn’t play video games all day. Can I help you with something?" Mack chuckled to himself.

“Why, yes, actually. I’m taking an art course that is mandatory to graduate but I'm having some difficulty in it, so I’ve been paired up with Leopold Fitz, do you know him?” Jemma stopped to receive Mack’s confirming nod.

“As it appears, an accident he had a few years ago is still giving him problems and he doesn’t have the best control of his motor skills which is also impeding his abilities in the class. In short, he gets the big picture, while I can draw straight lines. Since he and I have been paired up, I’d like to help him out in this aspect, but need some help building the device. It wouldn’t take very long, but I’m not overly savvy with the mechanics. Would you be able to give me a hand?” Jemma hastily spoke, tripping over her words and biting her bottom lip nervously in anticipation of Mack’s response.

Mack picked up a nearby towel and rubbed off the light grease stains. He stood up, casting a large shadow on her. 

“Let me see what you got.” Mack offered with a smile.

Jemma sighed, brimming with relief.

“All I need to do is create a neural transmitter, and an accompanying device for around his wrist and forearm. The neural transmitter - I’ve already got the designs for from a previous project in helping agents regain motor skills after sustaining injury in the field. We would just need to retool it on a smaller scale, so instead of emitting light pulses to say an entire leg or arm, it sends it to his forearm and down. It works as part behavior correction and rewiring of the nerves. Anytime he involuntarily shakes, his nerves will be re-wired in a sense to straighten out,” Jemma explained.

Mack nodded again, already deep in thought and ideas. He waved her over to the work stations and pulled out a tablet, a pen, and a box of spare parts. Jemma, taking the tablet from him, pulled up her prior project and showed it to him. In an hour they had worked on the changes needed, and in two they had started to work on the prototype. 

By late evening, Jemma had a full operational version. She sent Daisy a text to ask if she would have any idea where she could find Fitz at this hour.

“It can’t wait until tomorrow?” Daisy replied with an angry emoji. Jemma immediately texted back that it couldn’t, even though it could. She was proud of the work she had just done. In her head she already imagined Fitz putting it on and then shouting in delight the answer to her artistic shortcomings. 

“Engineering students on a Thursday night usually go to the Boiler Room because the trivia night is tailored to, you guessed it, engineering students. Good night.” Daisy responded a few minutes later. Jemma texted her friend a good night and wished her good luck on a test she had early in the morning.

Undeterred, Jemma trekked from the garage to the the Boiler Room. After years of coming here, she had never stepped foot in the place on a Thursday night, which given the information Daisy had just supplied her made sense. Tables were packed with wide-eyed students, crowded over tablets. The drinks in their hands and on their tables were filled to varying degrees. Several drones whizzed above the trivia space, patrolling the teams to ensure no one was cheating. Excited chatter and talk about technological breakthroughs rose above the background pop music. Jemma scanned the crowd of scientists, looking for a particularly curly-headed boy. She drifted over to the bar, grabbing herself a beer to aid her search throughout the place. She stumbled deeper into the crowd of trivia participating students, barely making any of them glance up. When she got closer to the front, she spotted Fitz right away. A friend was clapping him on the back, congratulating him on a right answer. Fitz' head was tilted back, and his smile nearly reached the sides of his face, but it was the icy blaze of his eyes that really caught her. She suddenly felt a pang of nerves wash over her.

Jemma hesitated. She lingered on the bar floor, device gently tucked away in her bag and wondered how she could just come here and disturb him. It was oddly fascinating for her to see him so happy and energetic. When he was around, he seemed to shrink. A sudden feeling of guilt arose in the pit of her stomach. She wondered if her presence had somehow been the reason. After a few moments stuck in this mindset, Jemma realigned herself and thought about how much this could help him. And she wanted to help him. Science had prevailed once again and her feet finally moved to bring her over to the table.

With smiles fading off Fitz and his friends’ faces upon Jemma’s arrival, she scrambled to place the newly created device on the table in front of him. 

“I have the solution to your, uh, problem,” Jemma spilled. One of Fitz’ friends burst out in laughter, causing Fitz to momentarily look away. When he turned back, Jemma beamed at him earnestly.

Fitz picked up the exoskeleton-like device and examined it, glancing down at the neural transmitter still on the table.

“May I?” Jemma asked, taking the transmitter. Permitted with a nod from Fitz, she slipped the device just over his ear, pushing aside his sandy colored curls. She proceeded to help him put on the accompanying arm device and showed him how to switch it on. In turn, Fitz took the stylus off the tablet he had been using for the trivia competition to test out the device. After scribbling some lines and writing out some words, Fitz developed a pleased look on his face as everyone looked on. 

“This is pretty solid stuff,” he exclaimed, examining the device on his arm. He paused for a second to look up at Jemma, who beamed. 

“Oy, you aren’t going to introduce?” one of Fitz’ friends around the table said, pulling his beer glass to his lips.

Fitz’ cheeks flushed red, Hunter's comment earlier in the day about how pretty Jemma was spontaneously filling his mind. Wanting to be in control of the situation Fitz rushed through introducing Jemma to Hunter, Tripp and his only other engineering friend, Donny. With the introductions over, Fitz decided to really pull a fast one on his friends who had already started to playfully humiliate him. He placed his portion of the bill on the table, passed the tablet to Donny and wished them good luck with the rest of the trivia night. As Fitz turned away, he could see Hunter's jaw unhinge, while Tripp merely smirked, approving of Fitz newfound confidence.

“Jemma, if you’re down, we can go over the art stuff again,” Fitz stated. He grabbed his cardigan off the back of the chair and placed a hand gently on Jemma’s arm, to guide her away from the table. Caught off guard but pleased about her successful work, she followed Fitz out of the Boiler Room.


	5. Art as expression, not as market campaigns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the key to art is... the stars?

The night had become progressively chillier since Jemma had last been outside, but she braved the cold and walked silently, nearly brushing shoulders with Fitz. He walked with his head cast downward, not quite looking at his shoes and not quite looking at the sidewalk. Jemma turned to look at the contour of his face illuminated by the lamps lining the pathway. The soft orange hue of the lights glowed through his hair. Jemma looked away unexpectedly. 

It was a couple minutes of walking in silence before Jemma piped up, noticing they had passed the arts building, “Where are we going?” 

Fitz looked up from the ground and ran the hand without the arm device over the back of his head.

“Uh, well, I think the way that I can ‘show’ you art is with a little help. So, I thought the observatory may be of good use. You know, the heavens have always been a big inspiration for art,” Fitz commented. He changed his direction slightly to bring them over to the science building in discussion. Jemma had studied alien genomics in the building. 

They entered the building without a problem, and there were still a few labs open with students conducting late night studies. Fitz ducked in one lab to grab some supplies and the pair headed up to the observatory, where a high-powered telescope was free to use by anyone. As good fortune would have it, the chill of the night left everyone else back in the labs for Fitz and Simmons to use it without obstruction.

Jemma helped Fitz set up the telescope, talking to him how astrology was one of her first forays into science. She talked about a surgery she had as a child to correct her sclerosis, and her father would prop up her bed so she could look through his telescope. He taught her the constellations, helped her zoom in on planets and even track comets. Fitz listened intently as she spoke, watching her eyes look off into the distance and her mouth convene in a graceful smile. When she finished her story, she returned to looking directly back at him. For a moment, their eyes lingered. She turned away with a smile and if the moonlight didn't deceive Fitz, redness blooming on her cheeks. The very thought of her blushing made his body loosen.

“So, art, what are we doing here?” she asked, her voice was softer than he had ever heard it, falling like a melody on Fitz' ears. He had suddenly become very aware of the pinkness of her lips. 

“You’ve seen the Sistine Chapel right, the whole ‘Creation of Adam’ and whatnot?” Fitz started, lowering his own voice to adjust to the mood. Jemma nodded, grabbing the pen and paper in her hand, and blindly scribbling down what he just said. She had sat down on a ledge pardoning off the telescope. Fitz moved closer to her and placed a hand on her hand to stop her from writing.

“What I gather from Koenig and just looking at art, it’s more than what you know of it, but... but how you feel about it. The same goes for artists. If you look closely at the Sistine Chapel you’ll see a juxtaposition of biology with religious iconography. Michelangelo was an anatomist- a scientist, and in that image he created links from the religious depictions to biological and even astrological events. The figure of God is depicted on the silhouette of a human brain, and there are allusions to other human anatomy throughout the fresco. We didn’t realize most of this until almost 500 years later.... Albert Einstein once said that the most beautiful thing we can experience is a mystery as it is where science and art converge.” Somewhere along the middle of his speech his words had just taken off and he was speaking with passionate gusto. 

Jemma's hand was frozen underneath his, and she gazed at him with intrigue. He hadn’t realized his hand was still on hers. He recoiled, feeling as if he had overstepped a boundary. Jemma set the pen down and lamented about the loss of his warm touch. Fitz' face once again flushed and he turned his attention to look through the scope for a moment, making an adjustment.

Still looking through the lens, he continued, “Science and art ask the same questions don’t they? What is our place in the cosmos and how do we define that? When you learn something or discover something in science, it changes your perspective, well same thing in art.” 

He stepped away from the telescope and beckoned for Jemma to look through. She placed the notebook aside, stood up from the ledge, and leaned into the scope. 

“The stars are like a...a...natural art, and they give explanation to...,” Fitz stopped, his voice had softened. He watched as her smile grew, realizing the beauty in what she was seeing. She turned away from the lens to look at him. 

“To our origin,” Jemma said, completing his train of thought. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Fitz replied with praise.

“Like… like the golden ratio in the human x chromosome sequence,” she beamed. 

“The Fibonacci sequence,” Fitz gently laughed, a smile now fully inhabiting his lips. “You did something really wonderful for me tonight without really knowing me, and, I feel… I feel truly humbled about that,” he added.

Jemma received the words and took a moment to process. 

“Well, it was barely anything and you’re very welcome,” Jemma's voice sounded caught in her throat, her hand hung off the side of the viewfinder.

“You know, before this class, before really this afternoon, I had these preconceived notions of who you were and I’d like to come clean and say that I was very wrong, very, very wrong” Fitz confided. He watched as Jemma turned her attention to the sky again, looking at the stars without the overpowered telescope.

"Oh, that's not the first time I've heard that," she laughed.

Fitz moved and grabbed the pen and paper. Jemma started to turn but he held her there. "Stay right there, I- I want to try something, do you trust me?" he said.

"With this view of the stars, sure," Jemma continued to peer through the telescope.

Fitz sat and began to sketch out the contour of her face. Jemma could hear the scratchings of pen on paper and smiled, continuing to explore the universe in front of her. It took a few minutes, but the silence was rewarding. He studied the subtle slope of her nose and the higher arc of her cheeks. He tried to do justice by her lips, but they were more perfect than a painting could ever be. Wanting to see her eyes again, he prompted her.

"Okay, you can look." 

Jemma slowly backed away from the telescope and stood above him. The viewfinder had left a light ring around her eyes. 

"You got a little..." Fitz started to say, tracing the line on his own face. Jemma grinned and sat down next to him, her side of her body pressed into his. 

"That happens all the time in the...," Jemma started to explain until her eyes caught sight of the paper. She was struck by the what she had seen, her breath hitching in her chest. "Fitz...Fitz, this is lovely."

He tilted the notebook for her to get a better look, and she hovered over his lap to examine it. Her fingers gently following along the pencil lines. 

"You're really quite wonderful," she stammered, looking from the sketch to him. Her face was now only inches from his. He could feel her breath lightly wash over his skin. His heart erupted and he was quite sure she could sense its quickened pace. Jemma leaned just a bit closer, her eyes closing. Fitz watched her long eyelashes fall upon her skin. Overcome with another wave of confidence, he suddenly found himself placing his lips on hers. She met him with eagerness, coiling her body further into his, as his hands placed the notebook down to gently cradled the side of her face. The kiss deepened, filling a mounting desire in both of them. The chill of the night sent shivers of Jemma's spine and she gently pulled away from the kiss, opening her eyes to meet his. Her eyes shone in front of him with a glitter to them. 

"I don't think the stars could compare to how you beautiful you are," he whispered. Jemma smiled, her cheeks filling up again. She placed a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him into to another, long and needed kiss.


End file.
